please stay
by i set my sims on fire
Summary: It felt like you and me were getting better - Albus/Scorpius, and trying maybe too hard to hold on. Slash.


**Warning; bad language, and slash. If you have a problem with anything, please don't read.**

please stay

_can you really throw away all the times that we've recovered one another?_

**-don't walk away, sick puppies**

It's two am when Albus Potter turns up on his brother's doorstep.

It is raining outside, and so Al is soaked to the skin and shivering when James opens the door, and Al thinks he must look pathetic.

'Al?' James says incredulously, rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes with his fist in disbelief. Al merely looks at him from under a sodden fringe, and James sighs. 'I guess you'd better come in.'

Al steps into the dimly lit house.

'Sorry,' he mutters, not really sounding it. James looks at his brother a little anxiously, but doesn't question anything.

'Do you want a drink or something?' James asks uneasily- he's shit at all this stuff. He is not kind and sympathetic, not really. He's not cold or unforgiving, no, he's perfectly _nice_- he's just terrible in situations like this, when someone he cares about are obviously upset, and so he stammers through his words and tries not to show annoyance at being woken up during the middle of the night.

Al shrugs. 'You can go back to bed, if you like.'

James ignores him. 'What happened to you?'

'Doesn't matter,' Al dismisses. 'It's alright if I make a cup of tea, yeah?'

'Yeah,' James nods. 'But Al-'

'Leave it, James,' Al says- and he doesn't sound like his usual bitter, slightly irritable self, he just sounds tired and defeated, and so James, for the first time, leaves it. 'Go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.'

'We'll talk in the morning,' James says awkwardly. 'You'll be alright?'

'I'm hardly going to burn your house down.'

James sighs. 'Fine, I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Al.'

Al simply nods as James begins to climb the stairs, and he makes his way into the kitchen, boiling the kettle and peeling off his wet hoodie and shirt, until he's topless. He figures he'll borrow something of James's to replace the jeans when he goes upstairs, but right now, he is too tired. He bits his lip anxiously, looking more vulnerable than ever, and he silently thanks James for leaving him alone. Only one person has seen the soft side of him, and Al plans to keep it that way.

He sighs, thinking about that one person, and where they are and where he is, and how things don't really fit together anymore. His head is all over the place.

Al knows, really, that this is probably all his fault. It usually is, isn't it? He's concluded one too many times that it's a little Scorpius, and a lot himself, and he always promises- both to himself, and to Scor- that he'll change, but he never does. He's not sure _how_ to change.

Scorpius says sometimes that it's not Al's fault that he is the way he is. That the bitterness and the self-hatred, the self-destruction, even, isn't all down to Al. And Al thinks back to the many times he's lay in Scorpius's arms, not allowing the tears to stream through his eyelids. Scorpius would stroke his hair, caress his cheek lovingly, and place chaste kisses on the top of his head, and he'd tell Al that he wasn't a bad person.

Al would never say anything. He never says much, especially when he's in that kind of situation. But silently, he'd call Scorpius a liar, because he knows as well as anyone else that Al _is_ a bad person. And Al is going crazy, because he's beginning to think that maybe that is just who he is. Maybe he can't change. Maybe he can never get better.

Al ends up in James's spare room with a steaming cup of tea, finding that James has left a spare pair of trousers on the bed, and Al smiles shortly to himself, but it quickly replaced by a dagger of self-hatred. James can be a prick- he can be the biggest prat, and he's screwed things up for himself countless times. Countless. But still, he's a good person- everybody loves him, and they always have. James just radiates warmth and hilarity and goodness, even when he's pulling pranks and sneering. He still cares.

Al collapses onto the bed, and waits for the nightmares to come.

x

The next day, Albus avoids what he can foretell will be a terrible attempt at a deep conversation with James by apparating home at the crack of dawn. The sky is pink, and he remembers an old muggle saying his Granddad Arthur once picked up- 'Red sky in morning, Shepherd's warning!' as he wearily lights a cigarette.

His head is killing him.

The flat appears to be empty, but Al knows that it isn't. He knows that Scorpius would have little other options than to stay here all night, curled up in the bed with Al's side empty. He knows that. Scorpius wouldn't go back to Malfoy Manor- he isn't on good terms with his parents, never really has been.

Whenever Al used to try and coax him into settling things with his father, Scorpius would divert the subject. He'd laugh, as though Al didn't know that the smile was blanketing the pain that'd flicker in his eyes, and he'd kiss Al briefly on the lips.

'I don't need my dad. I just need you,' he'd say, and Al would soften, the way he never thought he could. Scorpius had a way of doing that to him. Scorpius had a way of finding the good in people, sometimes, except when it came to himself. Al knew why- that was down to the blood on his hands, blood that wasn't really there. Blood that Scorpius himself had not shed, but his grandfather had. Scorpius had always felt like that blood had been passed down through the generations, along with the scandalous Malfoy name.

Al thought he couldn't be more wrong, but there was little point in saying so. 'Malfoy Scum', and 'Murderer', were words engraved far too deeply into his soul for Al to do any repair. Scorpius knew that Al's heart was just as ruptured with media and rumours and expectations. That was what made them work, in ways. They didn't try to fix each other- they knew that they didn't need fixing. They listened, instead. Or they did. For a while. Al inhales a breath of smoke sharply as he experiences a kind of ache in his heart.

Really, he wonders where it all went wrong.

'Al?'

Al whips around at the sound of his name. Scorpius is standing in front of him, looking pale and tired, deep purple rings are carved underneath his eyes, and he looks like hell, with messy blonde hair and no shirt. He looks a little undone.

'Scor,' Al breathes. 'Scor, I'm sorry-'

Scorpius shrugs, a small smile on his face. 'I'm sorry, too.'

In the next moment, somehow they have both moved into the centre of the room, and Al's lips are on Scor's, where they belong. Scor's hands wind around Al's neck and Al's arms snake around Scor's waist, and he holds him tightly, as if he'll never let him go.

'I love you,' Al murmurs, into Scor's neck. He knows, that if he was looking at Scorpius head on, that if he could see into the depths of his dark eyes, or see the look on his face- Al knows that there would be a sad smile painted across his chiselled features, and no hint of a sparkle in his eyes.

Al holds Scorpius tighter, guilt surfacing. He knows that he has done this to Scorpius- he knows that he is the one who rid him of the light in his eyes, and laughter from his throat. Al knows he did it, he must've, with his insecurities, and his stupidity, and all the times he hasn't admitted that he was wrong.

Al knows that it's his fault, but he's too selfish to let Scorpius go. And so he simply holds Scorpius tighter, tears prickling in his eyes (he blinks them back furiously- he must not cry, he can't do that) as he buries his head in Scor's shoulder.

x

'Fuck you,' says Scorpius, and he's standing in the middle of their kitchen floor, alcohol soaked over his bare feet and shards of broken glass surrounding him. He is shaking, quivering, but not with despair or over-whelming sadness- with anger. He's glaring at Al with something that looks like hatred, and Al is shooting him daggers straight back. Neither of them, now, are quite sure how they even got here.

Al shakes his head. 'I'm so sick of this,' he hisses.

'Leave, then,' Scorpius shoots back. 'Leave, like you always bloody do, and come back at five am. Say you're sorry, _like you always do_. I don't even know if you mean it anymore.'

'Why am I always the one apologizing?' Al snaps.

'Because you're the reason none of this is working!'

Al's emerald eyes flicker dangerously. 'Then why don't you leave?' he hisses. 'If I cause you so much pain and hassle, why don't you leave me? For good?'

Scor's eyes don't meet his, and instead, they glaze over the apartment. The broken glass. The drips of firewhiskey. The damp on the ceiling and the floorboard that creaks every time it is stepped on; the tattered rug strewn over the sofa with the broken strings- the obviousness that they could do better, if they wanted, but choose not to, because a run-down flat in muggle London is not somewhere the wizarding press choose to lurk.

'You love me, see,' Al continues. His voice is not just pure anger, there are laces of desperation, and a sort of pleading woven in amongst all the hate. Scor doesn't believe that it is genuine- it must be the firewhiskey, and that hint of vulnerability mixed in with the green must be a trick of the light. 'You need me.'

'Maybe I do love you-' Scorpius spits. 'But I fucking wish I didn't.'

Silence, they could've heard a pin drop, a drip from the tap in the leaky sink. The shouting is almost better, Al thinks. He sort of wants to stop this now. He sort of wants to murmur apologies into Scor's soft skin, and breathe kisses into his lips. But he doesn't, and he's not sure why. There's a surge of bitterness inside him. Anger, from years and years of harassment and expectations and Harry-Potter's-son, none of which was Scor's fault. But in the heat of the moment and the emotional strain of loving someone he probably shouldn't, the anger all comes spilling out towards Scorpius, and he finds he can't stop the words he shouldn't say seeping out.

'You're poison, Albus Potter,' Scorpius says. His voice is softer now, and that makes it worse. It sounds like he hates Al. Anyone in their right mind would, Al thinks. The words cut like the sharpest knife through Al, and he feels as if someone has taken away his ability to breathe. 'You're not good for me. You're ruining me-' Scorpius chokes on his words, the hurt over-powering the anger. 'Why are you doing this?'

'I- I-' Al stammers for the words, but they have left him. Scorpius has screamed at him countless times, he has slammed doors and sent a ripple of anger and hurt throughout Al's entire body. But never like this. Never, never like this. 'Scor-'

'I get that you're hurting, Al,' Scorpius says. 'I know you've been through a lot. And it can't be easy, I know that,' he takes a breath. 'But you're not the only one who feels that way, you know? And- sometimes- I wish you'd realise. I'm hurting, too.'

And them, with a sharp crack, Scorpius apparates, and Albus is left alone.

x

Scorpius returns, days later, and Al falls into his arms and they're at peace, for a little while.

They lie in bed together that night, holding hands beneath the sheets, and Scorpius sighs.

'Why do we keep doing this, Al?' he asks.

'I don't know,' Al admits, honestly. 'I don't know, but I don't want to give up.'

'Me neither,' Scorpius says quickly. 'But this- all of this- it hurts.'

'It hurts me too,' Al says. 'I can't help the words that come out, sometimes. I hate myself for hurting you, but I don't know how to stop.'

There is a short, tense silence. And then Scorpius's voice, smaller and more vulnerable than Al has ever heard it, and it just about breaks his heart. 'Maybe we're just not meant to be.'

Al tightens the grip on Scorpius's hand. 'Don't say that,' he says, weakly. 'We'll make it work. We have to. We've been through so much...'

'Three years,' Scorpius sighs. 'We've been trying for three years, Al.'

'It's not been all bad,' Al protests weakly. And it hasn't. They only began to fall apart several months ago, and neither of them can work out why. Neither of them have the faintest idea of how to rebuild whatever fell apart, or fix whatever is broken.

'No,' Scor agrees. And then, as if talking to himself, he softly adds, 'three years...'

'I've loved you longer than that,' Al sighs. 'You've- you're the only one who makes me happy, Scor. You're the only one I have left.'

'That's because you pushed them all away, Al. And sooner or later, you'll push me away, too. It's what you're doing now,' Scorpius pauses. 'You don't let anyone in.'

'I let you in,' says Al feebly. 'You know me in ways that nobody else ever will. Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

'I know,' Scorpius says. 'But a part of you doesn't like that, and that's why we won't work.'

There is a long silence, again. Al cannot think of anything he can say in response. After a while, Scorpius's grip on Al's hand loosens, and his breathing grows softer, and his eyes are closed. It is then that Al allows a few droplets of salty tears to slide down his cheeks.

'I'm sorry,' he whispers, and he's not sure who he's speaking to.

x

They're fighting again, screaming and shouting, and blood runs down Al's cheek. He's not sure how it got there. Scorpius looks at him, doubtfully, and Al finds he is holding half a shattered glass in his hand and- well, that explains the cut on his face.

Scorpius himself is shaking, and Al isn't sure what with. Scorpius's eyes aren't telling, and his lips aren't moving.

Al can't even remember what went wrong this time, why a string of hateful words formulated behind his lips. Why did he even say them? What is _wrong_ with him-

'Al,' says Scorpius. There is something strange in his voice. 'Al, I'm leaving.'

'No,' Al says. He bites his lip so hard, he can taste the metallic taste of blood as it runs onto his tongue. It hurts, but not nearly as much as the ache in his chest right now, the guilt that swallows him whole. 'Please, Scor-'

'I can't do this,' Scorpius whispers. 'I can't do this anymore.'

x

Al is pacing the floor of the flat again, waiting for a floo call, an owl, for Scorpius to apparate into the middle of the uneven floorboards and wrap his arms around Al's shoulders. To cry into his chest, something. Anything.

But he doesn't.

The hurt has only grown. Scorpius doesn't leave, it's Al who always leaves, and then he comes back and they're okay for a little while. And Al always thought that that 'little while' was better than nothing, but he supposes not.

His knuckles are bloody and bruised; a strange, scary shade of purple mingled with black and dark blue, and there are assorted patches of sickly yellow and faded green that dance across his fists. There are cracks in the walls to match his wounds, because punching walls is better than anything else, right?

When he was younger, he liked to pretend he didn't need anyone. Not even his best friend, who was Scor. And when he turned sixteen and they kissed for the first time on the astronomy tower, Al still liked to pretend he could do it on his own. That he was independent and strong and he didn't need anyone. He kept lying to himself, really, all through the hardships that he went through with Scorpius. And he'd pretend, quietly, of course, that he didn't need _anyone_. Not even Scorpius. He didn't need anyone.

But now he knows that he does.

He _does_ need Scorpius; Scorpius is like some kind of glue that heals open wounds, and there's something about him that keeps Al holding on so tight that now he can't even think about letting go. He needs Scorpius and it's only now that he realises how much. He knows now- too late, but what else is new- that without Scorpius, he falls apart.

He's already falling apart.

The sky turns from grey to blue to red to this, a dark blanket spread across the city, stars shadowed by the illuminated blur of city street lights, and Scorpius still hasn't returned.

As the clock strikes midnight, Al begins to cry, and he wonders who he was trying to kid, all those years he pretended to be so strong.

x

Sick of the waiting and sick of the weakness, Al turns up at Malfoy Manor at nine am, two weeks later.

He has little hope. If Scorpius loved Al- if Scorpius wanted to be with Al- he'd have come back, surely? But Al is going stir crazy locked between four walls, the ache in his heart is unbearable, and he wants his best friend back, if not his boyfriend.

He realises as the doorbell rings, that he doesn't even know where he stands with Scorpius anymore. Scorpius left, does that mean they broke up? Panic rises in Al's throat. He can't do it alone, not without Scorpius. He needs Scorpius-

The door opens, a house elf. Al is left alone, standing awkwardly on the marble floor, biting his fingernails and feeling as if he is going to be sick, while the house elf rushes to find Master Scorpius.

Damn. It's nine am. Scorpius will probably be asleep, and Al reckons it was probably inconsiderate to visit at such an early hour, but he couldn't help himself. Scorpius has always been his magnetic north, his go-to when things get rough, and even if Scorpius hates him right now, would he really turn Al away?

The house elf sends Al upstairs to Scor's room. The manor looks the same way it did when he and Scorpius were teenagers, constantly visiting each other's houses, and Al pauses outside of Scorpius's bedroom door, his heart beating erratically and his fist held in mid air, debating whether or not to knock, or to go right in.

He knocks, in the end.

'Come in,' he hears Scorpius mumble from the inside. And so he does. He carefully, slowly pushes the door open, and Scor is sat on his bed, rubbing sleepy dust from the corners of his eyes, and not looking in Al's direction.

Al clears his throat. Green meets grey.

'Hey,' Al says.

'Hi.'

Al sits down on the end of Scorpius's bed, awkwardly. Without realising, he raises his hand and he's biting his nails again. Scorpius looks amused.

'I thought you'd stopped doing that,' he says.

Al tries for a smile. 'Me too.'

A silence, long and drawn out. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

'I'm sorry, Scor.'

'You say that every time,' Scorpius sighs. 'But you're not.'

'No, I am,' Al says desperately. 'I'm a mess, Scorpius, and I thought I didn't need anyone but I do. I need you, and I'm ready to stop pretending that I don't.'

Scorpius tilts his head to the side. 'But you always said dependency showed weakness.'

'I was wrong,' Al says, and he's having a staring contest with the bedroom floor now, apparently. 'I was so, so wrong. I thought- I don't know. I've always been weak,' his voice cracks. 'You were always the strong one. I was always weak.'

'Al...'

'I'm scared, Scor, I don't want to be like this anymore.'

'It really felt like we were getting better,' Scorpius says eventually, after what feels like hours of never-ending silence. 'But we weren't.'

'I know,' Al says softly.

'What if we never do?'

'We can try.'

'We _have_ tried,' Scorpius closes his eyes. 'It hurts, Al. It hurts a fucking lot.'

'I know. I'm sorry,' Al pauses. 'Are we- Are you breaking up with me?'

'I don't know,' Scorpius admits. 'We're fighting a losing battle.'

'I can change. I want to change.'

'The thing is, I don't think you can.'

They look at each other for a long moment, and then as if by habit, they're in each other's arms. Lips on lips. Skin on skin. Fingers tangled in each other's hair. And, Merlin knows, it's the only thing that feels right anymore for both of them.

x

Al Potter turns up at his brother's house at 3 am, six weeks later, and thinks that maybe Scor's right.

Maybe they can't get better, but he's too cowardly to admit that, and too selfish to let Scorpius go.

**I know the ending isn't very well done, and nothing gets sorted and stuff, but if you _did_ happen to like this enough to favourite please don't do so without reviewing c:**


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